Confessions & Apologies (20yrs on)

04/08/2009

Name that Tune: “Where, where are the stars? the one that we used to call ours. Can’t imagine it now, we used to laugh til we fell down.” – Like I Never Loved You At All, Take That


Movie Quote of the Day: “Mistakes are beautiful baby – mistakes are part of the fun” — Evening

My friend, from when I was at school in Herts, came up on Monday for a visit with her 2 childerbeast – the eldest of whom is 10 and I last saw him when he was about 4 months old! Tempus sure does fugit and all that.

My my, where to start? I was overjoyed to be meeting up at long last after years of trying to fit a visit into our new lives. You know how it is once the hubbies and childerbeast come along & distance is the biggest factor. Well she brought a veritable treasure trove of letters, random items & photographs for me & Bman to pour over, screech in horror & amusement at & then spend hours scanning for upload onto Facebook – (see link at foot of page).

The photos were not any that I hadn’t seen before but it was great to see them again and scan copies for myself. Funny that back then I never thought of myself as slim, yet compare the 14 year old or 16 year old me to the 37 year old version and I don’t know what I was thinking by constantly trying to diet – there was no fat to lose!

The letters, which I had sent to her after leaving Herts & moving to Scarborough in 1986 & then later to Chester in 1989 were both a joy & a nightmare to re-read. Some of which brought back all kind of forgotten memories and have filled me with shame & remorse. There were so many of them (well, I do like to write stuff down and document things – don’t know if you had noticed?) This prompted Bman to bust out the folder of letters I have from him when we first began seeing each other & he lived in London & I was in Chester. Again, all were an entertaining & telling re-read.

No-one writes letters anymore, there’s no permanence to our feelings, unless you keep a diary. I don’t know that blogging counts because unless you back it up and keep a copy it only takes your journal host to shut down & you’ve lost it all! I used to keep paper diaries, from the age of about 11 to 14 but I threw them all in a plastic bag once in a fit of pique & winged them into a bush behind The Mound in Knebworth Court in B.S. I have since been told that this has now all been torn down to make way for houses so perhaps some workmen & builders found them and had a good laugh. Maybe they will one day turn up on Facebook to haunt me.

I can only begin to imagine what kind of bollocks I wrote to myself if the kind of drivel I wrote to my friend is anything to go by. Bloody hell I am such a twat! A moaning, self-centered, permanently love-lorn, slightly unhinged, thought I was the bees knees when I was anything but, completely deluded, naïve, full of shite Twat, with great emphasis on the final T of Twat!

If I wasn’t twittering on about some unrequited love of a completely unsuitable, unworthy object of obsession, I was quoting song lyrics apropos of nothing (ahem…no change there then – see top of every blog entry). I seemed to be obsessed with nicknames for people, the reasons for which, 20 years on, completely escaped me and my friend as they all usually had some extremely tedious link to the persons’ actual name. I was also a big fan of the nostalgically dramatic anniversary: –

“It was 2 years ago today that so & so chucked me for such & such, I remember I was wearing that blue tube skirt & the white crop top & my best jelly shoes & it was outside Sainsburys.” etc etc. Tragic!

By the late 80’s early 90’s I was in college & appeared to go though a (long forgotten by the 37 year old me) student revolt against Thacherite Britain, although I am sure I wasn’t alone there. In one letter I wrote:

“I was going to drown myself the other night in the bath but thought the better of it because I didn’t want to the paramedics to see me naked, wrinkled & bloated in a hideous shade of Tory blue” I had then written in bolder pen; “Down with Thatcher”

(Mum, if you are reading his I am sure I wasn’t actually considering topping myself).

What drivel!

I now feel the need for confessions & apologies with the wisdom & safety of retrospect & the knowledge that this blog is not that widely read. Cue the compulsory song lyric – “Tonight we’re gonna go back…way back”

So let’s begin with Michael, erstwhile first boyfriend from Hadham Hall school who I went on probably 2 ill-fated dates with, 1 of which I never made it to because my sister’s friend barfed in the car on the way to Harlow & my dad had to turn around & go home to get her changed so I was late for our rendezvous infront of ‘Mr Byrites’ (or wherever).
There was never any actually physical contact & very little actual social interaction between us but at 12 I think that still counts (well it did then) as a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. Michael, I used to ring your house but could never think of anything to say, so kept quiet when the phone was answered & then hang up. I did this several times until one time your Mum answered & yelled down the phone something along the lines of “Stop pestering us you dirty old weirdo or I’ll call the Police”.

I never did it again. Sorry.
To Tara & Elisabeth (with an S) – I saw some rude graffiti about me in the park & was told that you two did it, so I wrote stuff about you 2 in the loos & carparks in town & drew crude pictures of you in marker pen. This is what sparked that longterm feud between us 3, (that & the fact that you took the piss out of me for being a virgin, even though you 2 still were aswell.) Once we were thick as thieves & used to pretend to be the 3 friends from that TV series called ‘Lace’ – we even had scraps of lace each as tokens of friendship LOL. Anyway, sorry about the nasty graffiti because I don’t actually think it was you 2 that started the stuff about me & I knew that very soon after I had retaliated with my graffiti but it was too late then, the damage was done. What can I say, I was 13 & an idiot!

To all the poor boys I rated as 10’s for looks on my ‘Lust Lists’ & stalked around town trying to get glimpses of, or speak to, or get to notice me. I apologise for creeping you out & being a bug, but I also thank you for not taking advantage of a love-lorn sun-inned airhead as you all so easily could have done (by the way I hope you are now all fat, bald & unfulfilled) This also applies to the shitehawks who did go out with me but then messed me about 😉

More importantly to all the boys who stalked me around town in the shadows or lurked outside of my house on bikes (& there were some) or the ones who lingered on the periphery & stuck by me through all these long and protracted unrequited Shakespearian love tragedies, I am so sorry I didn’t turn around & look behind me more closely at the ones who were The Real 10’s. Xx


I think I have written this before in a previous blog on a similar topic so ‘scuse me for repeating myself but I still, 24 years on, applaud & thank Paul Hudson. An admirer of mine whose affections were not reciprocated on the basis that he had spots & I thought I was a cut above the rest & deserved better, when I was actually just another badly styled, 80’s teenage wannabe with ideas above her station. He was the only one who stepped in to save me the time I was set upon by a gang of coke-can wielding harlots & their minions in Castle Gardens, B.S circa 1985.
My so-called pal, Tracey Lockyer, ran off across Sworders Field like Zola Budd & left me to fend for myself as I got punched & sprayed with pop & slapped around & my skirt torn almost clean off! Several people I knew were present, watching & jeering like jackals, but Paul came to my aid & rescued me & took me home to my mum & for that I will be eternally grateful.
A real friend would not have abandoned me. When it happened again some months later my real friend, the one who has been visiting, didn’t hesitate to jump in like a Jack Russsell & give as good as she got. Love you Wigster! Muah! Xx
Adrian – whoever & wherever you are – sorry for the poor review on your kissing technique mate – I am sure mine was not much better & probably hasn’t improved over the years.
Moving on to Boro now. Chris; you of deck shoe & white casual trou, ice skating floppy fringed local hearthrob & butt of a hundred army jokes. I can only beg forgiveness for the shoddy way in which I behaved with you. I snogged other boys & treated you with teenage contempt undeserving of your niceness. That was the problem, you were nice to me where those who had been out with me before had not. I was making you pay for the unkindness they had shown. It was unfair, unjustified & very bad form. Hopefully you will have forgotten all about it but I have always felt guilty for it, which is why I never laughed when you hit the kerb on your moped that time on Wreyfield shops long after we had broken up & you fell off in the road. (Okay so I did laugh, but only to myself after you had picked yourself up & driven off. Sorry dude).
This girl looks the picture of teenage innocence but it turns out she was not, she is not & if she believed in such a place, she will be going to Hell because she is evil & bad should have the surgeon generals warning tattooed across her forehead.

Biggest apology is to the boy in this picture. This picture of exuberant youth.

I apologise for dragging him around the World, around the UK, fattening him up, putting him down & not putting-out nearly enough. For 22 years he has listened with ever-decreasing patience to me moaning, putting myself & others down & talking absolute crap & annoying him on an almost daily basis since 1996 when we became permanent thorns in each others sides.

Bman, I’m so sorry. You have no idea how much & for half of it what for, but trust me mate, I am grateful you are around (still) even though I am an unpleasant, grumpy, miserable moaning Minnie of an ungrateful, selfish, mean tight old mare.

Thank you for being my friend (PS I can hear you snoring next door while I am writing this) Xxxx

Link to the Facebook album to see some edited highlights we scanned:

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